Page 5 of The Innovator

Settling with them had cost millions, but it wasn’t the money that frustrated me. The time and energy I had dedicated to it left me hollow, driving me to hate the world. I hated myself and even God.

How could God let so much shit happen? I supposed that was a question even the saints, angels, or Buddha couldn’t answer.

Natalie stood in the street chatting with her coworker. I should probably sit down, but I remained at the window staring at her while I wondered if there was a God.

I wasn’t a religious man, but I had believed in a higher power at one point in time. But that had changed. I was now a man who had adjusted to life’s circumstances. My situation had sharpened my edges.

Natalie disappeared into the building just as my phone pinged. I returned to the table, retrieving the phone.

I need to speak to you. It’s important. - D

How the fuck could Derek use a cell phone in prison? I hadn’t heard from him since he got locked up—not that I wanted to. But this message begged me to be careful. I glared at the phone as though it were a monster trying to get me.

My chest constricted with hatred, anger, resentment, and sadness. I immediately deleted the text as though the gesture would delete Derek from my life. If only life could be that easy. What people said about family was true—you couldn’t pick them.

You played the cards you were dealt with. I didn’t want to play shit.

A therapist would tell me to forgive Derek so I could move on. How could I forgive a man who had murdered my father? A sane and logical man would want him shredded. I wanted that, but would his demise make me feel better?

I dropped back into the seat and blew out a breath. I should work and not think about Derek. That text message was an ember from the past, glowing hot and bright, igniting something within me—something I didn’t dare to acknowledge because it would only make life worse. Did I need more shit to deal with? Absolutely not.

But you need answers.

I clicked my pen repeatedly, the only sound in the room that lured my mind away from the discomfort brewing in my gut. I grabbed a blank sheet of paper and scribbled an abstract building on it, hoping it would distract me. The scribbles reminded me of the mess in my mind and in my heart.

A slideshow of memories surfaced without my permission. Derek and I at a Celtics game. Playing basketball in the driveway. Poring over calculus homework. Constructing my tree house. Preparing food when Mom was busy.

All those memories were now stained with blood.

Because of Derek, I was stuck in a rut with no way out. I was an indecisive man with blurred vision. A man without clarity was an incompetent man. At least that was what it felt like for me. Having clarity—a purpose—drove me to success. I’d worked damn hard to become a top-notch architect who demanded a lot of money for my skills.

A knock at the open door ripped me out of my reverie.

Commissioner Conner strode in and grabbed the manila folder from the table. “I’ll review these documents while I attend the next meeting.” He glanced at my empty cup of coffee. “You need more?”

I looked at the cup, unsure if more caffeine could assist me today.

“We’ll get one.” Robert decided for me, which I didn’t like. It was just coffee, and I was tired, so I didn’t protest. “Let’s touch base in a couple of days. I need to review the blueprint with the city manager and the mayor. You’ll get the green light soon.”

“Soon” to the city could mean two weeks, a month, or five months. I preferred none of the above. If they wanted my donations to the city to continue, then they needed toexpedite my project.

“Let’s make itnextweek.” I didn’t have the patience to wait any longer.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Your best is appreciated.”

After Robert left, I opened the folder and reviewed copies of the history pertaining to the buildings making up Three Point Park. With my donations, I’d become a friend to the city employees, which gave me access to the archives. I wanted the history of who had previously owned my properties, worked on them, and so forth in case a contractor had added an addition that damaged the infrastructure of my buildings. This old data wasn’t retrievable via the internet because some of it had been typed with an old typewriter.

Checking on my other projects, I read an email regarding one of my properties that was being leased by a software company. I cursed at the pending issue. Did I have to do everything myself?

Negotiations had been going back and forth between the company and my financial team about the renewed lease. My assistant had politely told them the contract wasn’t negotiable. Nothing was changing from the previous agreement. Sometimes courtesy didn’t work out the way it should.

My phone rang, and frustration poked at me.

“What?” I barked at my assistant, Suzanne.

“Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Wu.”

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